Enduring the Storm
by wingedauthoress14
Summary: A storm looms on the horizon after the announcement of the Sokovian Accords, but storms don't have to be endured alone. TW: panic attack


Storms aren't meant to be stopped. They are meant to be endured.

And Vision was still so new to them. Still so fresh in his understanding that he didn't always see one looming on the horizon until it descended—chaotic, terrifying, and impossibly human. But he was learning. It was what he was built for, after all.

It happened after their meeting with Secretary Ross and the announcement of the Sokovian Accords. An eerie quiet seeped into the compound after the company dispersed. Wanda was curled up on the corner of the couch, fingers fidgeting with her rings. Vision settled into the chair beside her, book in hand.

The silent seconds stretched into minutes, until a hitch in her breath tore him away from the words. He set the book down, moving almost fluidly to the couch where she sat, rigid, gaze distant. For a moment, he was frozen, hands poised before her face as though a touch could disperse the dark clouds.

But that wasn't how storms worked. He had learned.

Wanda's gasps became shorter, as though the tempest had sucked all the oxygen out of the room, and she bent, shaking from its fury. It had been several weeks since the last attack, but each one was its own brand of fearsome. The madly shifting energy, chaos, and pain whipped around them both.

The first time Vision had come face-to-face with the storm, he was unprepared. He spent the first five minutes trying to talk to her, as he had to Tony during his storms. But not all humans responded the same way. What was comforting to one was disturbing to another, as evidenced in the red as it took over Wanda's eyes and threatened to create a storm all its own.

So they had learned together, and this time, even in the middle of it all, they weren't helpless.

"Wanda," his level voice and gentle touch to her shoulder acted as tethers to the earth. "Wanda, you're safe. There is nothing here that can hurt you."

"No, no," Wanda shook her head. Not safe. Not her. Not ever. She swallowed hard. "I—I—I killed—" her breath caught in her throat again, choking her.

He pushed down the dark feeling as it made a pit in his stomach. He wanted to argue, to push back against those words, but his voice would be lost to the wind. Logic had little place amid so much chaos. Later, then.

"Wanda, look at me," he instructed. She did so, tears streaking her wide, frightened eyes. Her breath came in sharp gasps, punctuating the quiet. "Good," he nodded, taking her hand and putting it on his chest. "Now breathe with me."

As a synthetic life form, breath wasn't something he generally depended on for survival, but now, he breathed for both of them. He counted the seconds of breaths in, breaths held, breaths out. Each time she'd strayed from the pattern, he brought her back.

"Stay with me, Wanda," he encouraged as she drew back her focus. "That's it."

At some point, Wanda had leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. She still shook, but her breath had slowed, matching the rise and fall of Vision's chest.

Vision took Wanda's other hand and slowly, almost reverently, uncurled it from its tight fist.

"Try moving this hand around the other," he guided, doing it first himself. He gently traced his pointer finger down along her thumb, up and over her fingers, over all her rings, over the deep half-moons her nails made in her palm, until he had completed the circuit. Wanda nodded and took her other hand away from Vision's chest, mimicking the motion as best she could with shaking hands.

Gradually, painstakingly, the storm broke. It left Wanda a puppet with the strings cut, and she leaned against the couch, one hand still drowsily tracing the other.

Vision put a tentative hand on her arm and she looked down, pausing her hand in its movement.

"How are you feeling, Wanda?" He searched her eyes—red, exhausted, puffy.

"Tired," she replied, her voice gravelly. Her eyes flickered open and her gaze fell on him, softening. "Thank you, Vis."

He nodded, tightening his grip slightly on her upper arm as he'd often seen the other Avengers do as a sign of affection and reassurance.

"If you care to rest, perhaps you would be more comfortable in bed," he suggested as Wanda snuggled into the couch. She shook her head.

"I don't think I want to move just yet," she said, eyes closing.

"I see," Vision said, standing up. His movement caused Wanda's eyes to shoot open.

"Vis?" she called, but Vision was already phasing through the wall to her room. He was back in a moment with her pillow and a fuzzy throw blanket that had once been in the main living room before she'd claimed it as her own. Before she could say anything, he threw the blanket over her and placed the pillow on the end of the couch.

"I believe that should make it easier to rest," he said, his synthetic heart leaping when she looked up at him with the flickers of a smile.

"Much easier," she agreed, sinking down onto her pillow. Before Vision could step away, she reached out her hand and slipped it into his.

"Stay with me?" the whispered plea pulled at him more than any other force in the world could. Vision knelt beside her, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"Of course," he nodded. "I'll stay with you, Wanda."

Storms couldn't be stopped—that was true. But that didn't mean anyone had to endure them alone.

* * *

A/N:

Hey readers! This is my very first WandaxVision fic, so I hope it was okay. I got the details of the panic attacks from my own experience, and the methods of coping with them (the breathing/hand tracing) are ideas from my therapist. I'd love to know what you thought, and if you think there's anything I could improve.

If you did enjoy it, let me know and I might make a follow-up chapter where Wanda helps Vision in a similar way.

Thanks for reading!


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